Remember Me
by ToWonderIfOnly
Summary: "There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love." - Washington Irving


_**AN: I just have alot of Paget feels okay.**_

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Emily sits stiffly at her desk. She runs her sweaty palms against her dark blue jeans for what she imagines must be at least the thirteenth time. But she doesn't give this much thought, no matter how hard she tries. Her eyes are fixed on the window in the bullpen, slightly illuminated by the single lamp burning in the room behind it. In his office, sits Aaron Hotchner, expressionless, a rock as always. She glances at her watch for the fourth time in the past two minutes. _2:13 a.m.,_ she thinks to herself. They are the only two left at the BAU, with the exception of some lower-ranked agents who stepped out of line during training and were subjected to desk duty for the next two weeks. She wasn't sure exactly what they did wrong.. something about hesitating during Tactical, costing the lives of a family and a couple of agents. It was all simulated, of course, but their mistake was thought to be just as terrible in their instructor's eyes. These thoughts distract Emily for the first time in weeks, and it isn't until she snaps out of the daydream when she notices Hotch staring at her through his office window. He must know. He always knows. She squeezes her eyes shut, and her heart drops at the thought of it, although she isn't quite sure why. _Get up, Emily,_ she tells herself. _After all, he knows anyway._ When her eyes reopen, she sees Hotch occupying the same position in which he sat earlier: slightly hunched over his paperwork, yet still managing to have perfect posture. "Defying the laws of nature, that one," she mumbles, barely audible. Prentiss giggles to herself, then realizing how utterly insane she must appear, wipes the last bit of evidence of a smile from her face. Her muscles tense, and she finally builds up the courage to stand. She rises to her feet, taking a deep, slow breath, and finally makes her way across the bullpen, up the set of stairs, and finds herself standing inches from his closed office door. Another deep breath. She raises her hand to knock when his voice stops her.

"Come in; it's open," his voice echos throughout the lone office, traveling through the cracks in the door and down the halls of the empty Behavior Analysis Unit where she has spent nearly every day of the past five years of her life. She grips the handle to his office, but stops before she can get further through the door. She stands there, paralyzed, as she's struck with memories that send tears rushing to her eyes. Her mind floods with images, remembering the very first time she opened that door: it was 2006, and she was crushed nobody knew she was coming. A fluke, orchestrated by her mother, the diplomat, responsible for the confusion she watched play across S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner's face as she stood in front of his desk, arms carrying a box of things she was planning to put on her new desk amidst her new family. She watched him leave his office to confront Gideon, only to see the same look of confusion mirrored on his face regarding her presence. Her mother's power had gotten her to the steps of the BAU, but it was ultimately Prentiss who proved valuable enough to be welcomed into their family. Her family.

"Prentiss? Emily?" his voice snaps her out of her thoughts as she realizes how long she must have been standing there. She wipes away the single tear she catches rolling down the curve of her cheek, and she steps inside.

"Hi," she laughs nervously. "Sorry, I was-" her voice cracks, unable to give an adequate explanation as to what kept her at the door for God knows how long.

"It's okay," he interrupts, sensing something was wrong. Knowing something was wrong. He always knows...

She notices him standing, as he always does when a woman enters the room, and she can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth, again reminding her of her first time entering his office. He's always been a gentlemen...

"Please, take a seat," he insists, his unreadable face softening into a comforting smile, yet his eyes glimmering with sadness. _He knows. He always knows..._

She nods, attempting to return the smile, but there's simply too much on her mind to do it convincingly. She takes the few steps from the doorway to the center of the office, which he has so effortlessly made feel like both a place of business, as well as a home. She silently takes a seat in the first of the two chairs which occupy the space directly in front of the large, wooden desk, sitting mechanically, eyes staring at the floor, in the chair she has sat in countless times over the last five years. Her mind replays images of the night she showed up to Quantico crying, soaked from head to toe in both rain water and tears. She had sat in that same chair, broken and defeated, asking for a chance to investigate the death of the boy who saved her life as a vulnerable, fifteen year old girl. And just days later, she was back, sitting in front of an infuriated unit chief, being ordered to take some time off after abusing her power as a member of the FBI. The tears threaten to spill over her eyes as he once again snaps her out of her preoccupied, blank stare.

"Emily, is everything alright?" he asks sympathetically, already knowing the answer.

"Wha- yeah, yes," she replies without thinking, focusing only on regaining the composure she's not completely sure she had in the first place. She takes a deep breath once again, steadying her voice. "I'm fine," she offers, coupled with an unconvincing smile. "I just, uh, wanted to talk to you about something." She lifts her eyes to meet his, finding them looking almost as sad as hers do.

They sit, staring at each other, both of them silent - neither of them really knowing what to say.

"Go on," he finally adds with a nod, attempting to fill the silence.

Emily breaks their gaze, once again casting her eyes to the floor. She doesn't have the slightest idea how to begin this conversation with him, no matter how many times she's pictured it.

She remains silent for a few moments longer, trying to organize her thoughts. Her shoulders slump forward; she knows what she has to say. She squints her eyes shut and takes a long breath, putting off her next sentence for just a few moments longer. She opens her eyes, once again returning his gaze which she guesses he still hasn't broken. The only thing she finds different about it is the sadness. The depth of grief with which he is looking at her threatens to break the composure she is only barely holding on to.

"You know." She tells him. A statement, not a question. _You always know,_ she finishes to herself.

The way his eyes fall to the paperwork in front of him confirm what she knows his words won't. She wishes she didn't have to provide the explanation for what they both know to be true, but the respect she has for him is too strong for her to simply leave the words unsaid.

He lifts his eyes to meet hers, and once again, their gaze is back. She waits until she's sure they are both steady to continue, and when she finds them both to be as calm as she assumes possible, she knows what she has to do.

"I'm leaving the FBI."

They both knew it was coming, but that didn't stop both of their hearts from dropping. But, despite feeling broken, she has to keep going. If she doesn't say it now, she knows she never will.

"I've given it a lot of thought," she continues, trying to steady her now shaking voice, "and please know it wasn't easy." She pauses as the lump in her throat gets tighter, squeezing her lungs, making it hard to breathe. "In fact," she adds, "it is the hardest decision I've ever had to make."

She stops as she sees his eyes sparkle with tears, sending her own flooding back to her deep, brown eyes. "I just, this job - you know! This job, it... takes things from you. Pieces of you that, if I don't start recovering them now, I'm afraid I'll never get them back." The tears she has been fighting so hard to hold back finally spill over, and she's simply too weak to fight them. "But this family," she manages as a sob chokes out of her throat. "This family that you've created here..." she tries to catch her breath, "I've never had a family. And this family that you've given me, this family that you... you let me be a part of-" her words are cut off as her tears threaten to overpower her. "You let me be a part of this family, Hotch, and it is the greatest gift anyone could ever be given. I could spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you - to all of you - and it could never compete with the love you all have shown me." She pauses to regain some of the composure she all but practically gave up on a couple of minutes ago. She looks at him through her tear-filled eyes, only to find his cheeks streaming with his own. Their eyes meet, and then she continues.

"I wake up everyday thankful for this gift, Hotch. Please know that. And even though it's my time to move on, don't you, or anyone else on this team, forget the impact your love has had on me."

He nods, lip quivering, jaw clenched, tears streaming down his often unreadable face.

"And I promise, the love, the kindness... the generosity I have been shown by this unit, that is the same way I will raise him. And you can bet he will grow up knowing exactly where it came from."

Hotch's eyes immediately dart up from the file he had been mindlessly staring at as his ears hung onto her every word. His sorrow-filled eyes conveying a look of confusion as he tilts his head ever so slightly, as if wordlessly requesting an explanation.

"You don't know?" she asks surprised, as playfully as she can manage. "But, you always know," she says with a with an almost invisible smile.

The look of pain on his face softens at the way she always knows how to make light of a situation. God, he's really going to miss her.

She grins as happily as she can manage.

"Declan," she tells him. "He's been with the nanny until I could get the adoption finalized. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just-" her words are cut off as he stands from his desk. "...Hotch? I know I didn't tell you, it's just I-"

Whatever she was about to say gets muffled into his shoulder as he stands her up and pulls her into the strongest hug she has ever seen him give anyone but Haley or his son, Jack. She can't help but think of the phone call... when George Foyett killed the woman he loved as he was helpless to stop him. As they were all helpless to stop him. He just couldn't get there in time, none of them could. Prentiss was with JJ, the team all on their way to the house the Hotchner's owned together - the home where they raised Jack. Penelope had patched the call through to all of their phones, and they all listened breathlessly as there was nothing they could do to stop the bullet that the Reaper placed through Haley's skull. That woman, the love of his life, that is who Aaron hugged like this. And although she is gone, Emily still feels strange accepting it. But she does, nonetheless.

After a minute or so, he loosens the grip he has on her shoulders, pulling back to look her in the eyes.

"He's lucky," he tells her. "You're going to be a fantastic mother." A statement, one filled with not the slightest bit of doubt.

Her eyes, once again, flood with tears, only this time, they're for a different reason. She leans back into his embrace, relishing in these last few moments they will spend together as team members. After a few moments, she unwraps her arms from his strong, rugged chest and wipes her face clean of tears. They remain standing inches from one another, neither of them truly wanting her to leave. But she knows she must. She extends her arm to him, and he grips her soft hand in his, noticing the short, stubby fingernails. _This really wasn't easy for her,_ he thinks to himself.

"It has been a pleasure, Agent Hotchner," she tells him, their gaze fervent, desperately trying to delay the inevitable.

"Likewise, Agent Prentiss." They smile with as much sincerity as they can muster, both of their faces overcome with sadness and the remnants of tears. "Take care of yourself, Emily," he pleads.

And with a nod and a smile, she releases his hand, turns, and exits his office. He remains standing for a moment, his mind reeling with his own memories of her, before he finally rounds the corner of his desk, returning to his chair. He sighs heavily, cradling his head in his hands which he extends to rest on his desk. As he sits there, eyes closed, something feels... wrong. Strange, even. He opens his eyes, lifting his head from his hands, and his gaze begins intently scanning his office. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. There, at the far end of his desk, reflecting the light from the single lamp in the corner, rests a Glock 19 and leather-bound credentials reading "Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss," equipped with a smiling picture of the admirable woman who just walked out of his office. Aaron's head darts to the window, searching the bullpen of the BAU for one last glance at the woman formerly known as Agent Prentiss. His eyes dart from her desk, to the hallway, to the elevator at the far side of this floor of the FBI, only all he finds is himself alone in his office, his former team member nowhere to be found. He exhales deeply, slumping back against his chair as one last tear slips down his cheek.

_She's gone._


End file.
